


Masterpiece

by weekendwriting95



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babysitting, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Music, Painting, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherlolly- oneshot, birthday gift, mollock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekendwriting95/pseuds/weekendwriting95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You never told me that you painted." Molly turned to look at him, her eyes guarded as she looked at him before she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug “You never asked” Sherlolly, prompt fill for Tiffany!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TennantsLittleKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TennantsLittleKitten/gifts).



> This story is for cycat4077, who gave me the prompt “Molly paints. She's got her spare bedroom as an art room and there's some paintings of Sherlock. He walks in on them one day: "You never told me that you paint." Molly: "You never asked..."  
> I hope you enjoy the story Tiffany, I hope it was worth the wait!

The microchip that was his mind, had been compromised.

That was the only logical explanation to this bizarre phenomenon that he had been experiencing.

It started out as a few simple chords and notes; an unassuming G minor here, a low-key C major there, which hung themselves limply on the walls of his mind. Their presence - for the most part, left unnoticed and untouched by him.

But then the exile occurred.

Those brief minutes on the plane whose sole mission was to fly him to his ultimate demise, had given him time to think of what- or rather who, he was leaving behind. Agony took the form of dark treacherous waters, which thrashed against every inch of his mind palace. He leaped over tables and chairs in his mind, in an effort to avoid the rapidly growing waves below him. But his effort was feeble- and the freezing waters caught him, and bathed him in paralyzing thoughts of sentiment and what ifs.

He was shaken out of his stupor with a brief phone call from Mycroft. With the knowledge of the fake broadcast which lead to him saving his life, the vicious waves calmed and eventually drained. Leaving his palace as it was beforehand. Everything in his mind palace was back in their rightful place.

Everything but those blasted music notes.

The waters of the flood had ripped the music notes and chords off the walls with vigour, and the notes sprung to life. For days he had tried to grasp the notes into his hands and hang them back where they had once laid dormant. But it was useless- they refused to be compliant and obedient to him, instead they chose to form a skeleton of a melody.

That had been months ago and since then the incomplete melody had begun to plead with him. The notes needed more guidance in order to complete its song. Guidance that he refused to give. Its notes would float in the air above him, swirling and dancing across each other playing the incomplete song every time he would entered his mind palace. Which had become a nuisance to him whenever he needed solitude.

Then two days ago those once weak notes began to **demand** completion. They infiltrated his automatic nervous system. One evening he caught his foot tapping the rhythm of the melody, and his fingers drumming the notes against his thigh while he was with a client. There were times when his unconscious mind would envisioned notes that would fit with the composition. On one horrific morning he caught himself humming chords that might compliment sections of the melody, which added even more notes to the virus that was this song.

It was infuriating.

With no interesting murders, and no intriguing cases in his email, the music reached an ultimate crescendo. What he needed was a distraction. A distraction that Molly had labeled ‘Experiment 58: Unusual Foot Mold.’

He walked with a flourish towards St. Barts, cutting across one of the local parks near the hospital to save time. His hand moved in front of his face, waving away the occasional few pesky notes that appeared before him. His scowl grew as they refused to leave him alone.

Suddenly the notes disappeared as he heard a familiar carefree laugh sound from behind him.

Sherlock turned back on his heel to see what the commotion was, only to see Molly land with a great oomph onto the grass, her head thrown back as she laughed at her ungraceful landing. A small child, no older than three, stood above Molly holding her stomach as she roared with laughter at the older woman’s silliness. In a sudden motion, Molly leapt onto her feet, and made tickling motions with her fingers as she walked in menacing manner towards the child.

“Maddie, Maddie, Maddie. You better run. I’ve got the grumbles in my tummy and you look delicious!” The child, whose nose and hair was identical to Molly’s, gasped in horror at her words and sprinted away, squealing in delight as Molly caught her mid run and spun them both, their laughter growing louder the faster Molly spun them. Slowly Molly lowered them both onto the grass, their faces both deliriously happy and exhausted.

The notes softly re-emerged playing almost unnoticeably in the background of his mind as he walked towards them.

“I hear grass stains are difficult to remove.” Sherlock said as he stopped in front of them, his brow raised slightly as his helpful words caused Molly to laugh softly.

At the sound of his voice, the child gasped and hurriedly crawled on top of Molly’s lap, throwing her small arms securely around her, and burring her tiny face in the crook of Molly’s neck. A warm smile tugged at the corners of Molly’s lips as she rubbed small soothing circles on the child’s back.

“And how would you know?” Molly asked, her voice light and teasing as she looked at him.

“I know more than I care to admit.” Sherlock said as he circled the ground beside her, silently contemplating if he should sit down and risk unforgiving stains. “Don’t divulge this information to Mrs. Hudson.”

An ugly snort flew out of her nose at Sherlock’s words, one that sounded so ferocious it caused the small child to forget her shyness and let out a peal of giggles. “Sherlock, this is my niece Maddie.” She said as she ran her fingers through the child’s hair in a comforting motion. “Maddie, this is Sherlock Holmes.”

The small girl – Maddie, turned to look at his face, something aligned to recognition lit the child’s expression, and she smiled a large toothy grin towards him. Maddie moved to whisper something in her aunties’ ear, the child’s words caused a deep red flush to stain her cheeks. Molly looked at him briefly, then nodded her head in confirmation at her niece. Maddie crawled off of Molly’s lap and stood in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back, a smile identical to Molly being worn on her lips as she gazed at him.

“ Mistah, do you like icecweam?”

“I don’t have a strong opinion about ice cream. But an argument could be made that with weather like this, ice cream could be the most ideal treat.” Maddie’s brows scrunched in confusion but nodded at him anyway. She lifted her tiny hand, and pointed her small finger towards an ice cream stand that stood a few feet away from them.

“Me and Awntee-”

“Auntie and I.” Molly gently corrected, her eyes dancing with amusement as her niece threw her a glance, before shifting nervously from tiny foot to tiny foot.

“Awntee and I, we lwve stwawbewie icecweam, my mummy likes it too.” Maddie said, her big doe eyes staring at him in earnest.

“Oh… that’s a fine flavour. A popular choice among the masses I hear.” Molly chuckled as Maddie turned to look at her, a pleading expression on her tiny face, silently begging her Auntie to make Sherlock understand what she wanted. Molly wrapped her arms around the child, and regarded him with a soft patient smile.

“We were about to get ice cream, would you like to join us?”

Before he could say anything, the little girl moved her face to look up at him, her lip twitching nervously as she met his gaze. “Is okay if you cawn’t finish, Awntee and I will shauh our icecweam with you.” He looked back and forth between the two brunettes, both waiting patiently for his answer.

“That seems acceptable.”

Maddie squealed in delight and then rushed forward to grab his hand. His brows scrunched together, as he buffered what just happened. He looked down at the child holding his hand tightly, and then looked at her grinning auntie. “Your niece is far too trusting. She has never seen me before, yet in the spam of ten minutes has not only invited me- a stranger, to your ice cream break, but has also made physical contact with me”

Molly stubbornly avoided his gaze as she bit her bottom lip nervously. “She knows about you.”

Before he could question her odd behaviour, they reach the ice cream parlor and order their iced desserts. They set off looking for a bench to sit on, the three of them walking in silence as they ate there cold treats. Midway through their strawberry treat, a butterfly landed on Maddie’s face. The child bursted into a fit of giggles as the butterfly moved to sit on the tip of her nose.

“This is it!” Molly gasped to herself. She threw her ice cream into his unready hands, and ignored his unhappy ‘oomph’ as she reached into her pocket to withdraw her phone. She quickly snap a quick photo of her niece and her temporary winged friend.

“Perfect.” Molly whispered to herself as she looked at the photo.

“Maddie sweetheart, what do you think of this photo for your mum’s birthday gift?” She turned the screen towards Maddie who nodded her head with vigor at her auntie, causing the butterfly to fly away. “Oh no! Bootterfy come back” Maddie squealed in distress as she took off after the butterfly.

“You’re going to give your sister a photo of her daughter? With modern technology it is normal for a parent to have, on average, a few hundred photos of their children.”

Molly squinted her eyes at him, squinting her eyes at him in a heated glare. She turned her face away from him, a nonverbal sign that clearly indicated that ‘she was not happy’. Not good. The music, which had been a silent hum up to this point, began to increase in volume as she turned away from him, her jaw clenched in irritation.

“Not that anything is wrong with that idea.” He said, trying to appease her.

She turned to look at him, her brows raised in a brief question before shaking her head to rid herself of whatever thought crossed her mind. They both turned to watch Maddie folic freely in the flowers her irritation melting as the child ran up to hug her.

“I better walk to her to Barts, her mum will be waiting for us.”

They walked together in silence, the only sound coming from the group was from Maddie, who was too busy humming an upbeat song to notice the odd silence between the two adults. “I wanted to go with a nice simple fruit basket.” Molly said in an attempt to break the awkward silence. Sherlock blinked slowly at her, before nodding at her.

“Fruit baskets are nice. Very fresh.” Sherlock said in response to her. Molly’s lips tugged up into a smile as she looked at him.

“Thank you. But I think this gift will be more appreciated than a fruit basket, and it makes Maddie happy.” Sherlock returned her smile briefly before masking his expression back into one of indifference.

“Mummy!” Maddie screamed as she ditched them and ran towards her mum. Molly’s sister gave her daughter a tight hug, her brows raised in shock when she saw Sherlock standing beside Molly.

“How was your day?” Molly’s sister asked, her question directed to both adults and her daughter.

“It was lovely.” Molly said as she moved closer to Sherlock, unconsciously shielding him from her sister’s curious gaze. “Can you bring Maddie around on Sunday? It should be done by then.”

Done by then? Sherlock turned his gaze towards Molly, a silent question on the tip of his lips. She has the photo already, with modern technology, sending a photo takes less than three seconds, and printing a photo takes no more than two minutes. Why would it take three days to gift the photo?

He was shaken out of his thoughts by Maddie running towards him and hugging his legs tightly. “Twas nice meeting yu Mistah Homes.”

Maddie then turned to hug her Auntie tightly. “Don’t start without me, otay? I’ll see you Sunday Awntee.”

Molly returned the warm embrace of her niece, and nodded her head at Maddie’s plea.

“Molly? Can you walk us out so we can talk for a quick second?” Molly’s sister asked, her gaze stayed glued onto his face, a small knowing smile crawled onto her lips the longer she watched him. Molly rolled her eyes at her sister’s domineering tone, and turned to look at Sherlock with an excited smile.

“See you downstairs in a few minutes? Experiment 58: Unusual Foot Mold, has turned a peculiar shade of blue, and I think you will be quite surprised with the results of the culture swab I’ve taken for you.” The corner of his eyes crinkled with a sudden wave of affection at her excitement and nodded at her.

“That sounds like a suitable distraction for now, I’ll wait for you downstairs.” He turned away from them and strode towards the basement morgue, rubbing his hands with excitement as he waited for her to return.

* * *

Sunday morning came and went in a flash and Sherlock found himself sitting alone in his flat, bored out of his ever loving mind. He had been staring at the wall all threw the morning, his eye twitching in irritation as the music of his mind continued to play. He could feel himself going mad the longer he stayed holed up.

“Enough!” He yelled as he stormed out of the flat. Sherlock walked aimlessly for an hour, looking for something intriguing to occupy his mind. But the world and the people that occupied it, as usual, were dull. His feet walked around London until they stopped at his favourite bolt hole. The door of which was locked, but could easily be picked.

He knelt down to the floor and placed the tension wrench into the lock. But in the end his actions were a waste, the door unlocked from the inside and swung open revealing tiny Maddie Hooper, whose hair was damp and whose clothes were covered in patches of dry paint. She gasped when she saw him, and ran towards him, flinging her arms around his torso in a tight embrace.

“Mistah Homes!”

“Hello Madison.” His eyes roamed the inside of the flat looking for any sign of her Auntie. He heard the shower running and looked back down at the small girl hugging him with concern.

“Did you have permission from your auntie to open the door while she was indisposed?” He sighed as Maddie looked up at him with her small face scrunched in confusion. Sherlock stood up and with Maddie in tow, went into Molly’s flat. He moved the small stool back into the closet and then turned back to face Maddie.

“You should never open the door while your Auntie isn’t here. I could have been an unpleasant member of society. Like that woman across the hall.”

“You’re silly. Come see mummy’s Bowthday pwsent!” Maddie squealed with excitement, her little hand reached up to grab Sherlock’s and lead him towards the spare bedroom. The same spare bed room that housed the world’s most uncomfortable mattress. He shivered at the memory of that awful night when he faked his death. It was the first and last time he laid on it. Afterwards, he insisted on either sleeping on the couch, or more preferably, in Molly’s bed.

Maddie stretched on top of her tippy toes trying to reach the door handle. Too short, Maddie turned her face towards Sherlock with a pout. He sighed but opened the door, only to be shocked at what was inside.

What was once the home to one of London’s most uncomfortable gaudy bedroom sets, was now a room full of art and creativity.

Paintings lined the walls of the room, some so realistic it looked as if they were a photo. In the far corner of the room was a book shelf with binders, and baskets, full of pencil sketches, art supplies, and ideas to further explore. The music of his own mind shut off completely as he absorbed the room that was full of spectacular sites.

Sherlock was drawn to one painting in particular. Hours before he faked his death Molly had asked him what he needed. He answered her with complete honestly that what he needed, was her. It was as if this s painting was a screen shot of that moment, and the raw emotion that was running through him at that time. In the painting he was in the centre, his belstaff hung around him like armor, his face a firm mask, the only indication of the storm he felt was depicted in his eyes. They stormed with emotion, and vulnerability. The date at the corner of the painting indicated that this painting was over three years old, around the time when he had left to defeat Moriarty’s network. She had painted that time by memory.

He was stunned. The shading, the lighting, the photo itself. It showed deep sentiment from both the artist and the subject of the painting, him. It laid in every inch of the painting.

Maddie ran towards the large oak desk that laid in the centre of the room waving her arms to capture his attention.“Mistah this way! This way Mistah!” The sound of her voice made him reluctantly move away from the painting, and towards her. In the center of the table was another painting, one that was an exact replica of Maddie when the butterfly landed on her nose. One that Molly had snapped a photo of three days earlier.

“There you are.” Sherlock snapped his head up to see the artist herself lean against the door frame. Her damp hair fell down her back, her face flushed red, he didn’t know if it was from the heat of her shower, or because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Just like her art that hung on her wall, she was beautiful.

“Your Mummy is waiting downstairs, come on, let’s go meet her.” Maddie nodded in excitement and skipped towards her auntie holding her outstretched hand. “Otay Awntee, don’t forget to bing my pwesent tonight.” Molly nodded at her niece, her eyes widening slightly as she met Sherlocks intense gaze.

“Bye bye Mistah, see you latea.” Maddie skipped in front of her Auntie, waiting for Molly to open the door. Molly walked Maddie down to her mother, exchanging a quick hello and promising not to be late to the party tonight, before she returned back upstairs to her flat. She found Sherlock on the bench of her art room, his gaze unmoving from her paintings.

“This wasn’t here last time I stayed.” Molly hummed in agreement at him before she moved to sit beside him on the bench, both gazed at her painting.

"You never told me that you painted." Molly tore her eyes away from the painting, and looked at Sherlock with a guarded expression.

“You never asked.”

Silence filled the room both lost in their own thoughts. “Painting is good for the hands. It makes sense that this creative outlook would appeal to you, both need a degree of precision. Your talent indicates that you use to paint a substantial amount in your youth. Then you took a minor break, possibly because you got busy with your studies, or the more probable explanation is you didn’t want to paint after your father passed. Going by the date of most of your paintings, you picked up the brush roughly three years ago, almost immediately after I left London. The question is, why?” Sherlock asked, his eyes glued onto her lips as she pursed her mouth to take a breath.

“Can’t you deduce it?” She asked, her question caused his eyes back to meet her.

“I don’t want to deduce you Molly.”

“I-” She shook her head breaking their eye contact, and leaned on the back of the bench, her arms crossed over her chest as she spoke.

“I missed you Sherlock. I kept repeating that moment in my head and that look in your eyes. My mind would haunt me when you were gone. There were times that the memory and missing you would cause my fingers to twitch and ache. I couldn’t tell anyone how I felt in fear of compromising the situation. But I needed to let this emotion out. I found that painting, especially that memory helped. Haven’t you ever had something in your head that would continue to nag at you until you until it was let out?” She began to pick the dirt from under her finger nails, avoiding his intense gaze as she continued. “Expressing how I felt through art also helped me realize how I truly felt about you as well.”

“And how do you feel about me?” He asked, his heart beating in a fast tempo. Her head snapped up at his question, her bottom lip wobbled as she silently implored him to understand. Could it be possible that after all this time, her feelings had remained the same?

“You know how I feel.” Molly whispered in a breathy tone. Her eyes doubled in size when Sherlock turned his entire body to face her. He leaned forward, and placed both hands on either side of her face, gently keeping her head in place as his eyes danced across every detail of her expression, the room silent as he buffered her words.

“Helped you realize how you felt...” He whispered to himself, his eyes widening as the notes of the incomplete melody began to place themselves in their rightful place, understanding began to dawn on him. He placed a soft kiss on top of Molly’s forehead, causing a content sigh to escape her lips, and her eyes to flutter shut at his touch. He then moved to place a lingering kiss on the corner of her lips. Her eyes opened with a silent question in them, a question that he answered with a sincere smile.

“I need to leave.” Sherlock said as he moved to stand up from the bench, his movements determined as he walked out of the room and towards the front door.

“You what?” Molly cried in outrage as she followed him out of the room. They were in the middle of a moment, weren’t they? Was he just toying with her emotions? Molly clenched her fist tightly as she felt her vulnerability transform to boiling anger.

“I need to leave.” He said again, an excited smile on his lips as he began to imagine the possibility of a new chord to incorporate in the song.

“Why?” She asked, her pitch high from disbelief as Sherlock swung her front door open, humming a quiet tune under his breath as he moved

“The song. The song in my mind that demands to be expressed, just as your art work demanded to be. I must finish it before we do this.” Sherlock said as he swept across the hall, only stopping once he was in front of the lift.

“Do what?!” Molly yelled, throwing an apologetic glance at her neighbour who had opened her door to shush the obnoxiously loud couple.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sherlock said as the lift sounded a loud _ping_ , an indication that the doors would soon open.

“No Sherlock. I assure you that what you are talking about, is not obvious.” He rolled his eyes at her words and stepped into the lift.

“Before we confess our mutual love for each other. Obviously.”

Her anger vanished in a breath, and suddenly she was left questioning her hearing. “W-what?” Molly stuttered.

“Come to 221B Baker Street tonight, say around 7pm? I should have the final touches of your song completed by then. With that much sentiment, I think you’ll agree that it too is a masterpiece. Then we can get started afterwards. ”

“Get started with what?” Molly questioned. Sherlock flashed her a sincere toothy smile, one that Molly couldn’t help but copy even in her shocked state.

“Get started with our future.” Sherlock said just as the lift’s door shut. Molly felt her heart beat in a rapid succession as she thought over his words, and the sincere look in his eyes before the lifts door shut on them. The image was burned into her mind, and her cheeks flushed red at the anticipation of what that night would bring. She felt a familiar ache in her fingers, as she turned back into her flat to walk back into her art room. She had a feeling that this new portrait would forever be one of her favourites.


End file.
